Just to Get High
by popcorn1001
Summary: Roger struggles with his addiction and withdrawal. Mark struggles with his best friend, and his own patience. A kind of summary of what life was like for the two bohemians during the five months before Rent. T for drug use, self-injury, and language.


* * *

**A/N:** **I don't own Rent or Nickelback, but I do find that Nickelback songs fit the Rent world well. Especially, Mark and Roger's friendship. Under my old penname, I wrote a fic called Photograph, based on Nickelback's song of the same title. This time the song is Just To Get High.  
Hope you like it.**

**Just to Get High**

_He was my best friend,  
I tried to help him  
But he traded everything  
For suffering._

_**And found himself alone**_

* * *

Roger was shaking; Roger was scared, though he would never admit it. Roger was in the back room of a bar. Roger had a needle clutched in his hands, he knew he shouldn't but he had to. He had no one. No more April, and even Mark had given up. That was a scary thought. Mark never gave up. Mark is – was- his best friend. Mark had tried to help. Now, Roger was alone.

* * *

Mark slammed his fist again the table, wincing when he heard the crack of one of the bones in his fingers. Mark paced. Mark never paced, he knew that Roger was gone. He knew that he couldn't do anything without help. Collins was far away, and April was gone. Mark didn't know what to do; he knew that Roger was going to shoot up again. Mark didn't think he could stop him, he had tried everything he could think of to help his best friend – wait was Roger still his best friend? Mark didn't think so, and so Mark decided to give up. Still, Mark hoped Roger was not alone.

* * *

_I watched the lying,  
Turn into hiding,  
With scars on both his lips,  
His fingertips were _

_**Melted to the bone**_

* * *

Roger had never been a good liar. That was, he had never been a good liar to Mark. Mark could always see past the lie, and yet again and again Roger lied. Roger was lying even now – lying to himself – while he insisted that the high would make him feel better. Awhile ago, Mark had found Roger's stash. He had looked at Roger's scars in fear and said Roger needed to stop. Roger placed his bony finger on the plunger, and the tip of the needle in the vein.

* * *

Mark had seen the lie flit past Roger's face, the first time he had come home high. It had been a defensive no, and then a look to the floor that clue him in. Mark was an observer; he always knew when Roger was lying. Days – maybe even weeks – later, Mark had found the little bags of heroin, all over the loft, in what Roger thought the cleverest hiding places were, he even found one in the freezer. Mark shivered as he remembered his last good look at Roger, the track marks scarring his once-perfect arms, and the blisters on his lips. Roger had been just skin and bones.

* * *

_But I can still remember,  
What his face looked like,  
When I found him in an alley,  
In the middle of the night_,

_**Tell me what you know, tell me what you've gone and done now  
Tell me what you know, tell me what you've gone and done now**_

__Roger had to leave, he had to go now. Outside. Air. Breathe. His head pounded, his heart raced, and he ran through the emergency exit to the alley in the back, and down about a block, before he collapsed. The alley was pitch black. He was on his hands and knees. This was not good. This was not right. Bad. Wrong. Wrong, something was wrong. Roger had never felt like this before. Maybe he had used too much. Roger knew.

* * *

Mark was running through the streets. He was scared, his thoughts were spinning, and his heart was beating way too fast. He had to find Roger. He had to. Roger was not okay. Roger hadn't been okay in a long time. He was sick, and he needed Mark's help. Mark didn't know how he knew where Roger was, but nevertheless, he knew it was Roger's body collapsed in the darkened alleyway. He rushed to Roger's side, calling quickly and loudly for help, before turning to his friend's body. "Oh, Roger, what have you done now?"

* * *

_A gun would do the trick,  
Get it over with,  
You're better off,  
To take all that you've got,  
__**  
And burn it on the spot**_

__Roger was fading in and out of consciousness, his vision was blurred. He felt like he was dying. He hoped that he was dying, the world would be better off without him. Roger was imagining Mark's voice, it echoed in his head. Something in that voice, made Roger pull the rest of the drugs out from his pocket and place them on the ground beside him. He wanted them gone. If he was going to die, he didn't want anyone to know.

* * *

Mark sighed, running a hand through his hair, and looking at Roger, who was lying on the ground beside him. He heard sirens in the distance. He didn't know how he was going to cover the hospital cost. He couldn't possibly know. Mark was also worried sick. Roger could die. If Roger really wanted to die he just slit his wrists, like April, or just shoot himself or something. Mark immediately regretted that thought. Mark almost thought he imagined it, but Roger's hand slid out of his jacket and he uncurled his fist, dropping the bag full of white powder at his side. Mark wanted it gone. Mark took Roger's lighter from another jacket pocket, walked to a trash bin a few feet away, and lit the bag on fire. His anger burned with the sickly sweet orange flames.

* * *

_**Just to get high-igh-igh-igh**_

__Roger couldn't believe he had done this just to feel the high of the drugs. He wasn't feeling that now.

* * *

Mark couldn't believe that Roger had done this again. Just for a high that only lasted so long.

* * *

_Three days no sleeping,  
He gave up eating,  
He sold his mother's rings,  
She said nothing, __**And pretended not to know**_

__A few days ago, Roger had been short for cash. He hadn't had heroin in nearly a week, he was craving it. He needed it. He hadn't slept in three days because of the need, he couldn't eat. Roger took his most valuable possessions out, his mother's engagement and wedding ring; he sold them on the street. He bought the powder. The next week his mother visited, and asked to see the rings, Roger pretended he never had them.

* * *

About a week ago, Roger's mother had visited. She had asked to look at her rings, Roger lied through his teeth. Mark who had been watching Roger's sleeping and eating patterns carefully decided that he had not been high in days. Mark knew what had happened to the rings, Roger's mom pretended not to.

* * *

_He started stealing,  
To supply the feeling,  
Found out he pulled a knife  
On someone's wife_

_**And held it to her throat  
**_Roger had started stealing, stealing and selling just so he could buy the smack. He needed it. Roger knew she had some. He had seen her dealing on the street, at any rate, it looked like her. It had to be her. Roger approached the woman, eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep, "Can I buy some smack?" he didn't remember the woman's response. He did remember holding her up against the brick wall with his handy switchblade pressed against her throat.

* * *

Mark was shocked. Mark was ashamed, the Roger he knew would never hurt someone. Then he remembered, this wasn't the Roger he knew, he didn't know high Roger at all, he didn't want to. The husband was pressing charges, Mark knew they couldn't afford whatever was sentenced, and Mark knew that Roger could no longer be trusted on his own. Mark decided he wouldn't let Roger out of his sight for awhile. Roger would have to stay in the loft.

* * *

_But I can still remember,  
What his face looked like,  
When I found him in an alley,  
In the middle of the night_,

_**Tell me what you know, tell me what you've gone and done now  
Tell me what you know, tell me what you've gone and done now**_

Roger knew he still had some left in the loft. Mark couldn't have found all of his hiding spots. It would just be this one last time. One time, then Roger would be done. He promised himself. His heart skipped a beat when he remembered he had already promised Mark he'd stop now. It didn't matter; it was just one more time, one more night. Roger reached into the bathroom cabinet, there it was, it was a small amount, but it would do.

* * *

Mark walked in from grocery shopping to see Roger lying on the couch and a needle on the floor beside and empty bag. Roger's eyes were glazed over. "How much Roger?" Mark asked, though he knew Roger was incapable of answering at this time. Mark threw his hands up in the air, frustrated; he didn't know how to handle this. Mark grabbed the nearest thing to him, an old roll of film, and threw it against the ground, where the canister opened exposing all the film inside. "Great, that just great, see what you've gone and done now, Roger?"

* * *

_A gun would do the trick,  
Get it over with,  
You're better off,  
To take all that you've got,  
__**  
And burn it on the spot  
**_Roger wasn't surprised that Mark was angry. Roger had just come down from a high, a high that never should have happened. Roger winced at Mark's words, he couldn't possible mean them. "What do you want Roger? Do you want to die?" he had asked, " Because if you want to die, shoot yourself in the head and get it over with, because I'm sick of cleaning up your messes."

* * *

Mark hadn't meant that, well he had meant some of it. He was sick of Roger's frequent lapses, he was willing, so willing, to help Roger quit, but Roger had to want to quit. He didn't want Roger dead, but he was sick of coming home and finding Roger high. "Show me where you've hidden all of the crap now." Roger complied, and Mark took all of it, a surprisingly large amount, and Mark threw it into the silver trash bin, and lit a fire.

* * *

_**Just to get high-igh-igh-igh  
**_Roger knew Mark was right. He was going far too far for a simple high, which he rarely got anymore.

* * *

Mark didn't know what to do. Roger needed to know that getting high wasn't fun, wasn't safe.

* * *

_Tell what you did,  
Where you gone and hid?  
Show me, is what you really want,  
Watching what you've got._

_**Slowly, circle in the drain, throw it all away.**_

* * *

Roger knew he was ready the day he found his arms bleeding; he had been scratching his scars in his sleep. This wasn't safe, Roger's blood wasn't safe, Mark could get sick; Mark could get hurt, Mark could die. Roger knew that no matter what he was doing to himself, he didn't want Mark hurt. So, Roger stood in the bathroom, washing his arms and every surface of the bathroom vigorously. He couldn't be trusted anymore, with shaking hands, he pulled his last hit from the back pocket of his jeans and emptied into the sink, running the water and watching it all wash away.

* * *

Mark was looking everywhere for Roger, he knew he couldn't be outside. Roger didn't leave anymore. Mark searched the kitchen, the living sort of area, and both bedrooms, before he heard the tell tale sound of rushing water. Mark paused outside the bathroom door, remembering the last time he had entered when another person had been in there previously. Mark pushed to door open, he saw Roger standing, with his arms bandaged and his hands on either side of the sink to steady himself. Mark looked at the circling water, and saw the white powder going drown the drain. Mark felt so proud of Roger.

* * *

_**Just to get high-igh-igh-igh  
**_Roger wasn't going to smack anymore. He was going to find other things; he didn't need to get high.

* * *

Mark was relieved. He had thought that Roger would overdose again, just for the high.

* * *

_High-igh-igh-igh  
High-igh-ooh_

* * *

Roger didn't need it, but damn he still wanted it. He wanted that high.

* * *

Mark didn't want it, but damn he had a hard time keeping it from Roger.

* * *

_**Tell me what you know, tell me what you've gone and done now  
Tell me what you know, tell me what you've gone and done now  
**_Roger was throwing up, he was sweating he was shaking, and he was hot. It felt like hell. No, wait, he was freezing. It felt like the Arctic air. Hell. Air. Hell, Air. It all blurred, as Roger vomited again.

* * *

Mark stood beside Roger, careful, but worried. He made sure Roger didn't choke, made sure that Roger was covered in blankets when he was cold. Blankets were discarded when Roger was hot. The days and nights, and sounds of vomit splashing into the toilet, blurred together. Mark made sure to tell Roger, "I'm proud of what you know now, what you're doing now."

* * *

_A gun would do the trick,  
Get it over with,  
You're better off,  
To take all that you've got,  
__**  
And burn it on the spot  
**_"I want to die!" Roger shouted at Mark, "Just let me do it, it's going to happen anyway. You don't need me! You'd do better, without me to drag you down."

* * *

"You don't want to die, Roger," Mark replied, "You've come so far, you're getting better everyday." It was September, soon I would have to light the fires in the trashcan to heat the drafty loft up, and Roger couldn't catch a cold now.

* * *

_**Just to get high-igh-igh-igh  
**_Roger knew he hadn't been high in a long time, but he had lost track ages ago.

* * *

Mark knew that Roger hadn't been high in just over 3 months, he was keeping track carefully.

* * *

_Tell what you did,  
Where you gone and hid?  
Show me, is what you really want,  
Watching what you've got._

_**Slowly, circle in the drain, throw it all away.**_

* * *

Day after day Roger watched what little his stomach could hold, circle slowly down the drain, just like his heroin had once gone. On good days, Roger could almost feel better, on bad days Roger just wanted to be left alone.

* * *

Today was a bad day. Mark knew it was a bad day, because Roger was in the bathroom, and although the lock had been removed, the door was shut tight, and something was sitting against it from the inside. That prevented Mark from getting, so he called to Roger instead. Mark knew that good days would come again soon.

* * *

_**Just to get high-igh-igh-igh**_

* * *

Roger almost didn't want the heroin anymore. He almost didn't want the high. Almost.

* * *

Mark knew Roger was nearly there. Mark knew Roger was nearly read to be himself again. Nearly.

* * *

_**Just to get high-igh-igh-igh  
**__Circle in the drain, throw it all away, _  
_**Just to get high-igh-igh-igh  
**_Roger had to ask Mark, he didn't know where it was. He hadn't wanted it in ages. Roger felt he deserved it, even needed it now.

* * *

Mark agreed, after all, five months was a long time. Mark was glad that Roger had asked, glad to know Roger still needed this. Mark happily handed Roger what he had been keeping hidden away for months.

* * *

Roger began to strum his guitar, while Mark listened, and filmed, both friends, doing what they loved for the first time in almost half a year.

* * *

**A/N: R&R please!**


End file.
